<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>You're a Mean One, Mr. Crowley by Nicnac</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28491528">You're a Mean One, Mr. Crowley</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicnac/pseuds/Nicnac'>Nicnac</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Grinch Omens [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fusion, Fluff, How the Grinch Stole Christmas AU, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Max the Cat, Romance, the lightest sprinkle of angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:48:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,665</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28491528</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicnac/pseuds/Nicnac</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He paused, and Crowley put a hand to his ear.<br/>And he heard a sound rising over the snow.<br/>It started in low, then it started to grow.<br/>But this sound wasn't sad!<br/>Why, this sound sounded glad!<br/>Every Who down in Whoville, the tall and the small,<br/>Was singing without any presents at all!<br/>He hadn't stopped Christmas from coming! It came!<br/>Somehow or other, it came just the same!<br/>And the Crowley, with his snakeskin boots ice-cold in the snow,<br/>Stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so?<br/>It came without ribbons! It came without tags!<br/>It came without packages, boxes, or bags!<br/>He puzzled and puzzled till his puzzler was sore.<br/>Then Crowley thought of something he hadn't before.<br/>Maybe Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store.<br/>Maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more</i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Grinch Omens [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567081</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fandom Trumps Hate 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>You're a Mean One, Mr. Crowley</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euny_Sloane/gifts">Euny_Sloane</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>To complete the fanfic triptych going on, here is the same story told from Crowley's point of view. Done for Euny_Sloane for Fandom Trumps Hate 2020</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>All the Whos down in Whoville liked Christmas a lot. But Crowley, who lived just north of Whoville, did not. In the past this dislike had been put down to any number of explanations: his snakeskin boots were on too tight, his head wasn’t screwed on just right, or that his heart was two sizes two small. The most common guess that wasn’t flagrantly rude or offensive was it was due to cultural differences; Crowley lived near Whoville, but he wasn’t originally from Whoville. The town he was from was so far away from his new home on Mt. Crumpit he doubted anyone in Whoville had ever heard of the place, or at least that had been the intention when he picked Mt. Crumpit to settle on. Furthermore, he never went down into Whoville at all. Even on the rare occasions that he needed to go into town get supplies, he always went to one of the other towns a little further out. His logic was that if no one in Whoville ever saw him, then there was no chance of them seeing anything they found to be objectionable. He really didn’t want to have to move again.</p>
<p>So, it could be guessed that his dislike of Christmas came down to cultural differences, but the town he was from was also fond of Christmas. Not quite as much as Whoville, but all his childhood memories of Christmas there – few though they may be – were positive. It was spring that held the bad memories. Early spring, as the frost was only just beginning to thaw, had been when the sickness had come and late spring when his mother had died. Late spring when…</p>
<p>It was hard to know quite what the reason was for Crowley hating Christmas. Not that that would stop anyone from theorizing.</p>
<p>“It’s all the noise,” Crowley opined to Max.</p>
<p>“Mrow?” Max responded, pausing briefly in his purring and gentle kneading of Crowley’s thigh to cock his head up at Crowley. Max was very good at sensing when Crowley was in a bad mood, but Christmas always put Crowley especially out of sorts, and Max’s usual methods were proving much less than usually effective.</p>
<p>“Noise, noise, noise,” Crowley repeated. “Getting up at the crack of dawn to bang around on every instrument known to Whokind and a few I’m pretty sure they made up themselves. Absolutely no consideration for the fact that some people might be trying to sleep. ‘S rude, is what it is.”</p>
<p>“Prrrp,” Max agreed, then went back to kneading.</p>
<p>“And then, after they’ve all gone inside to eat their feast and you think they’ve finally decided to shut up, they come back out and gather around the tree to scream carols out at the top of their lungs. Peace on Earth and goodwill toward all and all that rot. Bah. Humbug.” Crowley hadn’t heard the story of A Christmas Carol since before his mother died, and he didn’t remember it all that well. What he did remember was the main character hated Christmas, which suited his mood perfectly, and there had been a lot of ghosts, which seemed delightfully spooky for a Christmas story. Big spooky fan, him.</p>
<p>“It’s easy for them to feel goodwill toward others when they’re the ones with all the musical instruments banging about and not the ones being jerked awake having to listen to it.” When they were the ones with the cosy houses and warm hearths and delicious feasts and the ability to have someone look them in the eye and smile rather than cringe away. “Someone ought to take those instruments from them and then see how much they feel like singing.”</p>
<p>Crowley had just been grumbling out loud, no real thought into what he was saying, but then he paused. His lips curled up in a crooked grin as he got an idea. A wonderful, awful idea.</p>
<p>He leapt straight into action, which Max was rather displeased by since it meant he had to leap straight off Crowley’s lap. But since Max then proceeded to constantly get in Crowley’s way when he was trying to sew up his Santa costume and sack, he figured the two of them were even. Then again, since Max consented to put up with the antler tied to his head – where else was Crowley supposed to get a reindeer so short notice? – Crowley probably owed Max one again. Well, he’d just have to dig through all the Christmas things he collected and see if he couldn’t find some good cat toys in the mix.</p>
<p>Despite his late start on the project, his flurry of activity, and a certain willingness to cut corners as needed, meant he was able to pull up fully outfitted and prepared outside the first house on the edge of Whoville just after all the Whos had tucked themselves away in bed. Once there, Crowley hesitated for a moment. What had seemed like a good idea that morning was starting to seem a tad… overzealous, now that he was on the verge of actually enacting it. Did they all really deserve to have all their Christmas things taken?</p>
<p>Then Crowley thought about the banging and hooting and blowing and screeching of instruments every single year first thing on Christmas morning, and their saccharine, shallow, frequently off-key warbling of Christmas carols every evening, and decided that yes, yes, they did deserve it.</p>
<p>The one thing Crowley hadn’t been expecting was how <em>easy</em> it all was. Just slip down the chimney, house after house, slip all their things back up the chimney, and move on to the next house. No one even tried to stop him or question him or even noticed him at all. On the one hand, there was something very thrilling about it; it made him feel very suave and clever sneaking around without getting caught. On the other hand, he was starting to think he’d put all that work into his Santa costume for nothing.</p>
<p>He was grumbling a little to himself about it as he fussed with a miniature Christmas tree sitting on someone’s end table, when he heard that same someone sneak up behind him and say, “Oh.”</p>
<p>He whipped around, trying to pretend as though he hadn’t been in the process of stealing the Christmas tree. There was a Who standing in the doorway looking quite surprised to see Crowley. He was dressed in blue pyjamas and slippers with a tartan dressing gown in shades of creams and blue. He looked – very soft, he looked very soft with his night clothes and fluffy hair and rounded cheeks and gently fluffy hair and a body that a person could just sink into. He looked, he looked… Crowley winced a little at himself for even having the thought, but between the moon streaking in through the windows and the gentle warmth of the string of fairy lights illuminating his pale curls and giving him an overall gentle sort of glow, he looked like an angel.</p>
<p>“Hello the—” Crowley cleared his throat. He tried again, affecting the Santa voice he’d practiced. “Hello there!” Nailed it.</p>
<p>“Hello,” the man said. “Uh, what are you doing in my house?”</p>
<p>“It’s me. Santa Claus.” Obviously. Could the man not see his Santa costume? Sure, it wasn’t quite up to Crowley’s usual standards, but it had all the parts. Well, he hadn’t had time to get a new pair of shoes, or enough fabric for a new pair of trousers, but basic boots and black jeans were Santa-ish. Probably. More importantly he had the red coat and red hat with the white trim – not fur trim, because it wasn’t like he had a mink stole lying around and even if he did, he wouldn’t have cut it up for a Santa costume, but he thought the fleece and stuffing combo were a suitable replacement. Sort of. And anyway, it was the middle of the night on Christmas Eve; who else could he be but Santa? “I’m here doing… Santa things.”</p>
<p>“I see,” the man replied, still sounding rather sceptical. Admittedly “doing Santa things” wasn’t the most convincing lie Crowley had ever told.</p>
<p>“Yes, I was just checking your tree here,” he said, quickly cobbling together a lie. If there was one thing Crowley was good at… well if it was just one thing, then it was probably something else, but thinking on his feet was definitely up there. “Looked like one of the lights had gone out.” Crowley turned to gesture at the tree pointing at a faulty light that wasn’t actually there.</p>
<p>“Oh,” the man said slowly. Then he smiled, no, beamed at Crowley, his whole face shining with pure delight. Crowley had to check to make sure he was still standing after that, because he felt like he’d been knocked straight back on his rear. He didn’t think he’d ever had anyone look that pleased to see him before. Should be illegal, that smile.</p>
<p>“Yes, of course,” the man continued. “Thank you, Santa. Oh, but I completely forgot to put out treats for you.”</p>
<p>“You don’t—” But that was as far as Crowley got before the man interrupted him.</p>
<p>“Nonsense, I insist,” he said, all but manhandling Crowley onto the sofa and then passing him a metal tin with a cutesy little elf on it. “Here, I have this lovely tin of iced biscuits. I haven’t the foggiest how he managed it, but my neighbour Newt wrangled all the children together – Adam and his friends, the Johnson boy and his little gang and even Warlock, who appears to be some sort of free agent of chaos – and they made these. The biscuits themselves are nice, if rather average, but one really has to admire the creative enthusiasm involved.”</p>
<p>Crowley opened the tin and stared for a moment trying to understand what he was seeing. “They’re something alright,” he agreed, picking up and inspecting a biscuit in the shape of a reindeer head, iced with glowing red eyes and sharp fangs. There was also a snowflake made of knives, a Christmas tree covered in little bombs, a stocking that appeared to still have a foot in it, and, oddly, a completely normal looking Santa. Crowley trusted that one the least.</p>
<p>“Oh, and you’ll need something to drink as well. Milk is traditional, but I could make you some cocoa if you prefer? Or, well I’m afraid my coffee maker is rather old and slow, but I could make you a nice strong mug of tea to help you get through the rest of the night,” the man said. He was a bit of a rambler it seemed.</p>
<p>“That…” <em>isn’t necessary</em>, he was going to say, but the way the man was looking at Crowley. It was somehow both hopeful and expectant, like he was asking a favour, but one he knew Crowley would grant him. How was Crowley supposed to say no to that face? It wasn’t fair, that’s what it was. Everything about this man should be illegal. “Tea would be great,” he said.</p>
<p>“Coming right up,” the man replied, bustling into the next room which appeared to be the kitchen. </p>
<p>Crowley put the reindeer iced biscuit back in the tin – he wasn’t really much for snacking – and settled back more fully into the couch. He glanced around the room and frowned a little. “You don’t have much in the way of Christmas decorations, do you?” he called. There was the tiny tree on the table and a few strings of fairy lights and cheerful little snowman on the mantle, but that was it. No holly or Santas or nutcrackers or real Christmas tree or miniature Christmas village complete with working train – the man definitely seemed the overly elaborate miniature village type. Granted, there were a lot of books and things – mostly random coffee mugs and more books – taking up the space where decorations might normally go, but still. There wasn’t even a stocking hung by the fireplace with the man’s name conveniently stitched on it for Crowley to reference.  </p>
<p>“Ah, no, I suppose not,” the man answered. “It doesn’t seem entirely worth the effort to decorate when it’s just me here, especially when there’s all this clutter I have to clean up before I could even begin to decorate with any sort of thoroughness.”</p>
<p>“So, you don’t celebrate? I thought everyone in Whoville loved Christmas,” Crowley said.</p>
<p>“Oh, I do! If anything, that’s another reason not to decorate. Why decorate my home when I’m planning on spending most of the day attending the lovely celebration we have in town?”</p>
<p>“Huh,” Crowley said. He supposed that was reasonable enough. Sort of. He’d got the impression that the decorations weren’t just for Christmas Day though, they were something to put out and enjoy for the whole month. Plenty of time for him to enjoy them while he was sitting around at home. While he was sitting around at home, alone. Huh. </p>
<p>The man reappeared in the doorway to give Crowley a vaguely suspicious look. “What huh? Do you… not like Christmas?”</p>
<p>“Course I like it,” Crowley said gruffly. “I’m Santa.” He grabbed one of the biscuits and shoved the whole thing in his mouth.</p>
<p>“Right,” the man said. He sounded mostly convinced. Mostly. Luckily, the kettle began shrieking just then, and he had to duck back into the kitchen to finish the tea. “Milk or sugar?” he called.</p>
<p>“No milk and…” Crowley paused. On the one hand, he hated anything that tasted even remotely bitter if it didn’t have sweetness to drown it out. On the other, there was something very childish and deeply uncool about saying just keep dumping the sugar in there until it wouldn’t dissolve properly anymore. “One sugar,” he finally settled on.</p>
<p>The man emerged from the kitchen and handed a mug full of hot water with a tea bag to Crowley. “There you are. Just let that steep for a minute. And here” – he placed the whole sugar bowl on the table in front of Crowley – “so you can add as much as you like.”</p>
<p>The thing was, it really wasn’t that amazing, was it? Crowley had pretty noticeably hesitated about the sugar, so bringing him the bowl to let him to decide for himself was a reasonable, normal thing. And yet somehow, that stupid sugar bowl so he could indulge if he wanted to made Crowley feel seen in a way that was both profound and profoundly embarrassing to be feeling over a sugar bowl.</p>
<p>“Really,” the man said, “you’re not the only one here with a sweet tooth.” Then he reached out his hand going directly for Crowley’s crouch, and Crowley damn near had a heart attack before he realized the man was just grabbing a biscuit from the tin in Crowley’s lap. Then he bit into the biscuit in a way that was both completely normal and utterly obscene and wiggled – wiggled! – in delight before grinning with just enough smugness to betray what an utter bastard he was.</p>
<p>Crowley’s poor body sort of gave up then, and Crowley couldn’t blame it, really. About five different noises, all very confused and overwhelmed, tried to force their way out of his throat all at once, and he ended up devolving into a coughing fit. The man’s smug expression was replaced by one of concern and a little alarm. “Are you alright, dear?”</p>
<p>“Fine, I’m—“ Crowley coughed once more then patted his chest a few times. “I’m fine.”</p>
<p>The man watched him a minute longer, seeming satisfied when Crowley didn’t cough again. “Alright. I’ll leave you to it then,” he said. “Hopefully I’ll see you at the party tomorrow?”</p>
<p>The plan, focus on the plan and not beautiful angels with smug grins and happy wiggles and sugar bowls. “No.” Crowley said, settling into a suave criminal mastermind persona. He leaned artfully back against the couch and smirked just enough to be mysterious. “No, I won’t be making it to that.”</p>
<p>“Why not?” the man asked, a follow up question that Crowley definitely should have anticipated.</p>
<p>“The North Pole,” he said a little too quickly, his suave criminal mastermind persona gone as quickly as it came. So much for that. “That is, after I’m done here, I’ve got to head back home. To the North Pole.”</p>
<p>“Oh yes, that is quite a trek,” the man said, apparently, miraculously, buying it. Then he smiled and clapped his hands together delightedly. “I have an idea. You can stay here tonight.”</p>
<p>“What.”</p>
<p>“Yes, that’ll work splendidly. You can finish your rounds, then come back here and sleep on my couch. It’s quite comfortable, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Then we can have a quiet morning – as quiet as Whoville gets on Christmas morning at any rate – and join everyone in the afternoon for the feast and carols.” Before Crowley could work past his surprise enough respond, the man had already headed back down the hall saying something about fetching a pillow and blankets. </p>
<p>Crowley considered using his brief respite to revaluate his current situation to figure out just what in the world was happening, beyond everything rapidly spirally out of control. He considered doing that, but then immediately reconsidered. The truth was, despite being rather overwhelmed by certain aspects of his present situation, he was enjoying himself, in a way that he hadn’t for a long time. This man was soft and kind and just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing, and for some reason he seemed like he might actually like Crowley too. And, you know, maybe there was something about the lack of Christmas decorations here that Crowley just couldn’t quite let go of. Crowley was pretty good at improvising anyway, so why not sit back, relax, and see just how far he could ride this thing out?</p>
<p>When the man reappeared in the doorway, Crowley smiled at him, having achieved a state of laid-back amusement. “You’re bossy, aren’t you?” he said.</p>
<p>The man’s expression fell and Crowley felt his stomach fall right to the floor alongside it. “Oh,” the man said. “Sorry. I was trying to be nice, and I got carried away without thinking about what you wanted. Terribly sorry.”</p>
<p>“No. No, no, no, no, no.” Crowley leapt up from the couch, launching over the back of it, lesser concerns like not looking like an overzealous spastic idiot falling to the wayside in face of the need to <em>fix it</em>. “That’s not what I – course you’re nice; you’re an angel. I’d love to stay. Here, just let me…” Crowley snatched the pillow and blankets away from the man in a frantic attempt to prove that he did in fact want to stay.</p>
<p>So. Huh. Well, the good news was the man didn’t look upset anymore. The also good, but rather confusing and perhaps a little alarming, but in a good way, news was now the man looked coyly embarrassed, a blush spreading across his cheeks though the precise shade of pink was devastatingly obscured by a combination of the dim lighting and Crowley’s own sunglasses. The two of them were also standing very, very close together.</p>
<p>The man’s gaze darted upward, and Crowley followed it. There was a little sprig of leaves and white berries tied up with a ribbon hanging from the doorway. “Ah, my neighbour Anathema hung that up there. She was trying to tease me I think,” the man said.</p>
<p>“By hanging a plant up?” Crowley asked, but the intended incredulous tone got lost somewhere in the small quiet space between them.</p>
<p>“Yes, well, you know, mistletoe. That silly old tradition.” The man’s eyes darted across Crowley’s face as though searching for something, and all Crowley could do was stare helplessly back. It was a soft, fragile moment that felt like it might shatter at any second, and yet it held, even as the man leaned in a pressed a gentle kiss to Crowley’s cheek.</p>
<p>That was… he didn’t… Crowley’s jaw worked as he was caught between the desperate need to say something and the painful fear that whatever he said would ruin it. “Angel…” he finally managed to scrape out.</p>
<p>“Aziraphale,” the man said quickly. “My name is Aziraphale Who. Though of course I’m sure you already knew that, Santa.”</p>
<p>Crowley felt like he’d been thrown face-first and naked into the snow. “Right. Santa,” he said, stepping back. He’d almost forgotten. Aziraphale thought he was Santa.</p>
<p>Aziraphale looked momentarily thrown, but shook it off and smiled. “I’ll let you finish your tea and get back to your rounds then. I’ll see you in the morning. Oh, and feel free to come in the front door next time; it’s not locked,” he said.</p>
<p>Crowley made a vague noise, which Aziraphale thankfully took for agreement. He turned back down the hallway and called down as he headed up the stairs. “Good night, my dear.”</p>
<p>“Good night. Aziraphale.”</p>
<p>When the sound of footsteps overhead fell silent, Crowley went back to the living room and sat down on the sofa, placing the bedding in his lap. He sat there for what felt like a very long time. The thing was, he could picture it all. He could picture it so clearly. He’d go back out and return all the things he’d taken – assuming he could remember which house each thing belonged to. He knew he should have been keeping a logbook. Well, anyway, he’d return it all as best he could and disavow any knowledge about any of it if people complained, and then he’d come back here. He’d curl up on Aziraphale’s sofa and go to sleep, and then be loudly awoken at the crack of dawn by a bunch of people banging about on all their instruments. Aziraphale would come downstairs and ask how he’d slept. Crowley would play it off casually; he’d slept fine until he’d been woken by all the noise. Aziraphale would fret and offer to go fetch him some ear plugs – Crowley bet he was the kind of person to have ear plugs – but Crowley would wave it off. He’d be charming, he’d cock a devil-may-care grin and say he’d much rather stay up and chat with Aziraphale. Maybe Aziraphale would blush again then, in the daylight now when Crowley could admire it properly, the pretty pink stain spreading across his cheeks. He’d flutter his eyes a little and look down and away, hiding a little smile, before bustling off to the kitchen to make them coffee. No, cocoa. He’d make coffee for Crowley and cocoa for himself. When he got back to the living room, Crowley would have folded the blankets up again and would head toward the hallway, asking where he should put them. Aziraphale would hurry over to protest, and if Crowley timed it just right, they’d both end up standing in the doorway together again, under that plant. Aziraphale would lean in again, but this time Crowley would turn his head to the side just a little, and then…</p>
<p>And then, sooner or later, Aziraphale would find out Crowley wasn’t Santa Claus. He’d ask Crowley to take off his glasses and the he’d know Crowley wasn’t a good person after all. He was a liar, a cheat. Bad omen, demon-spawn, plague-bringer—well, anyway. It would end poorly, was the point. It always did.</p>
<p>He set the bedding down on the end table, and went about collecting Aziraphale’s Christmas things into his sack. He hesitated when he got to the little plant hanging in the doorway. Then, without letting himself think about it too closely, he yanked it down and stuffed it into his pocket. There, done. On to the next house.</p>
<p>When he stepped out the front door – Aziraphale had told him he could use it after all – he heard a meow coming from up on the roof. “Max?” Crowley called in surprise at seeing his cat perched up by the chimney, having apparently dragged a tree skirt up there with him.</p>
<p>“What are you…?” Crowley shook his head and hurried over to climb up the ladder. “Guess I was in there longer than I realized.”</p>
<p>Max bopped him. Crowley probably deserved it, leaving him out in the cold so long. “I got caught up talking to… well, I managed to convince him I was Santa and that’s what’s important, right? Got to focus on the mission. Just a few more houses and then we’re done.” Crowley tossed the tree skirt over his shoulder, then scooped Max up in his arms to carry him back down the ladder. The whole time he kept up a stream of babble about the plan and, how close they were to wrapping things up and heading back home. To reassure Max that they’d be done soon, obviously. That’s all it was.</p>
<p>Once he’d gotten them both down the ladder and had set Max on the ground, Max immediately climbed inside the big bag of Christmas things. Crowley opened up the bag to put the tree skirt as well as Aziraphale’s things in there, and Max growled at him and climbed in even deeper. Great, Crowley had somehow managed to piss the cat off too. He just screwed everything up, didn’t he?</p>
<p>The last few houses went quickly and easily enough, though he wasn’t able to recapture the mischievous glee he’d had earlier in the evening. He just grabbed their stuff and began his slow trek up the mountain. Not even Max eventually climbing out of the bag to rub up against Crowley’s legs and then trot alongside him could really lift him out of his funk. But it was fine. He was tired was all. He’d go home, crawl into bed, and sleep straight through the day. Which he’d be able to do, since the Whos wouldn’t be banging away and kicking up a Christmas fuss all day. Crowley started to smile, but then an image of Aziraphale standing despondent as the Whos broke into fighting over who had stolen everyone’s things and ferociously laying the blame on one another popped into his head, and he stopped smiling. This wasn’t fun anymore.</p>
<p>But what else could Crowley do at this point, but keep on forging ahead? So he did, puffing his way up Mt. Crumpit as the sun crested over the horizon and slowly began creeping higher.</p>
<p>Just as he was nearing the entrance to his cave, a faint sound came curling its way up the mountain, quickly growing louder. The Whos were singing. Crowley glanced at the sled to confirm that yes, he did indeed have all their things and then stared down at the village in disbelief. They were singing. Despite not having any of the necessary Christmas things, not having ribbons or tags, packages, boxes, or bags, they were singing. He’d snuck into their village, a thief in the night, and taken <em>everything</em> from them, and they were all standing together, hand-in-hand, singing.</p>
<p>And then Crowley thought that maybe, just maybe, that they really did mean it when they Christmas was about togetherness and goodwill toward all.</p>
<p>“Max,” he said slowly. “I think… I think we’re going to have to go back.”</p>
<p>Hurtling down the mountain at breakneck speeds, fishtailing on patches of ice and rocks, jolting across uneven ground, and barely missing any number of obstacles in their path served as a fun distraction, but far too soon, Crowley found himself bringing his sled to a stop right outside the circle of Whos in the town square. Max – the traitor – immediately hopped down and ran off on him, leaving Crowley standing there awkwardly on top of the pile of things he’d stolen. He looked over the crowd of them standing there and just for a moment, his eyes met Aziraphale’s. Then Aziraphale looked away.</p>
<p>Right. He probably deserved that.</p>
<p>“Well, hello there,” said a red-headed woman standing on the close side of the circle to him. She let go of the hands of the two Whos next to her to approach Crowley’s sled. “Did you find our missing Christmas things for us?”</p>
<p>Crowley coughed awkwardly. “Something like that, yeah,” he hedged, stalling as he tried to sort out how to confess the truth. It’d probably be easier to just go along with the lie she’d provided for him, but he needed – wanted to do things right this time.</p>
<p>“How kind of you to bring it all back to us then,” the woman said. “We’ll help you unload, and then of course you’ll stay for the feast and carols after.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” Crowley said faintly, as the meaning of her expression finally hit him. She knew it was a lie. They all did. They knew he was the one who had taken their stuff, they were just acting like they didn’t to make things easier for everyone. It wasn’t even really a lie at that point; they were all, Crowley included, playing a game of make-believe together.</p>
<p>That was the trick of it. He felt a little stupid now for not having realized it sooner. He’d seen it often enough turned the other way around, used to hurt and persecute. Make-believe becomes belief becomes truth. Take something imaginary, like the true meaning of Christmas being about love and acceptance and goodwill to all and… and forgiveness. Take something like that. Utter load of rubbish, really. But then you all just pretend. Pretend it’s true, act like you believe in it. Do that hard enough for long enough, and who’s to say it wasn’t real?  </p>
<p>The point was, regardless of how they’d come to it and how much they really believed it deep down in their hearts, the point was, everyone in town was being very nice to him. Or, in a few cases at least, as nice as they ever were. Crowley nearly panicked when Shadwell started talking about witches, but he was quickly informed by his wife – Madame Tracy, the red-headed woman from earlier – that Shadwell was always going on about witches and it appeared that no one ever took him seriously about it. But aside from that and the sneering disregard of R. P. Tyler, everyone seemed eager to welcome him and fold him into their little community. They even had him carve the roast beast for Christmas dinner. And Crowley could admit, to himself anyway though he was sure if he breathed a word of it to Max that smug cat would never let him live it down, that having everyone be nice to him was… nice. He wouldn’t want to do it every day, but something like this every once in a while might be good.</p>
<p>Well, technically, not everyone was being as nice to him as they could be. Not that Aziraphale was being cruel! Crowley doubted Aziraphale even had it in him to be cruel; a smug bastard, yes, but not cruel. He wasn’t making any cutting remarks and he wasn’t ignoring Crowley, even if he wouldn’t hold Crowley’s gaze for more than a few seconds on the handful of occasions that their eyes met from across the way. But that was the thing; they were always across the way from each other. There’s was nothing Crowley could point to as proof Aziraphale was avoiding him, but he always seemed to be on the far side of any space they were in from Crowley, and by the time Crowley managed to casually meander his was over to where he had been, Aziraphale had always moved on to elsewhere.</p>
<p>It wasn’t until the end of the day, when Crowley saw Aziraphale wishing people good night and preparing to leave that he owned up to that fact that he possibly hadn’t been as proactive about trying to talk to Aziraphale as he could have been because he maybe was terrified it was all going to go wrong. But if he didn’t do something quick, he might lose his chance forever, in which case Aziraphale’s witchy neighbour girl would definitely track Crowley down to his cave and put a curse on him.</p>
<p>Luckily, just then Crowley spotted Max, so he went and scooped the cat up and looked him straight in the eye. “I need your help,” he said. “Aziraphale is about to leave, and I haven’t had a chance yet to… Look, just get over there and rub up against his legs or something, give me an excuse to go talk to him.”</p>
<p>“Mrow,” Max responded. And to be honest, Crowley had never been entirely sure how much of the things he said Max understood, but he didn’t really have any other ideas at the moment. So he took Max’s meow for agreement, setting him down with a little push in Aziraphale’s direction, and to Crowley’s relief Max trotted right up to him and began rubbing up against Aziraphale’s legs.</p>
<p>“Hello. Aren’t you a handsome fellow?” Aziraphale said, bending to pick Max up. Max started rubbing up against Aziraphale’s face and purring, showing some real initiative. Crowley approved.</p>
<p>“His name’s Max,” Crowley said, ambling up and striking a casual pose, one that said ‘you were the first person in a long time to show me real kindness and I didn’t know how to trust that so I betrayed you and I am so sorry and am willing to spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’d consider forgiving me.’ But, you know, casually.</p>
<p>Aziraphale startled, then turned around. “Max. He, uh, he’s very sweet.”</p>
<p>“He’s a terror. He’s just sucking up because he likes you, is all,” Crowley replied, which came out way more laden with double meaning than Crowley had meant it to.</p>
<p>“Oh. Well, I rather think I like him too,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley really hoped he wasn’t talking about the cat. Well, not <em>just</em> the cat.</p>
<p>“I wanted to explain myself to you before you left,” Crowley said.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to explain anything to me.”</p>
<p>“Didn’t say I had to. Said I wanted to.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Right. Of course,” Aziraphale said. “By all means then.” He pretended to be extremely focused on petting Max, presumably so he wouldn’t have to look at Crowley, but at least he was willing to listen.</p>
<p>Still, a chance was a chance, and if Crowley didn’t take this one, he might not get another. So, he explained, keeping it mostly to the basics: his complaints about the noise, his belief that they had only ever been into Christmas for the stuff, and his revelation when he heard them singing that morning that maybe they really did mean all the things they said about the true meaning of Christmas. There was more to it than that, a lot more if he included all the stuff he wasn’t even ready to admit to himself yet, but that was enough for the moment. They could talk more about it later, maybe. If Aziraphale still wanted to.</p>
<p>“I see,” Aziraphale said, which was just about the most noncommittal thing he could have said, but his tone sounded promising at least. “We were a little at fault as well, I think, never reaching out to let you know you were welcome. I do wonder… is that the reason you turned my invitation down?”</p>
<p>“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to,” Crowley rushed to explain. He was honestly still trying to wrap his head around the notion of how much that might have upset Aziraphale. Not the lies or stealing, but just Crowley’s absence. “It was… God, it was tempting, but you weren’t really inviting me to stay, were you? You were inviting Santa.”</p>
<p>“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, giving him a look. “Crowley, Santa’s not real. He’s a fairy story for children.”</p>
<p>Crowley’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “I… did not know that.” Though a whole lot of things were suddenly coming together very quickly, and wasn’t he an idiot?</p>
<p>“Oh, but of course you didn’t,” Aziraphale said. “Who was there to tell you when you lived up on the mountain all alone? Max seems a delightful companion, but I suspect he’s not much of a conversationalist.”</p>
<p>Crowley laughed, still awkward, but he did feel a little better. Not because of what Aziraphale had said, but just because he had said it. The desire to make Crowley feel better was much more important than the specific words used. “I don’t know, he’s pretty vocal when he wants something,” he said. “But, uh. If you didn’t think I was Santa, who did you think you were inviting to spend the night at your place?”</p>
<p>“You,” Aziraphale replied, looking a bit confused. That made two of them.</p>
<p>“Well, yes obviously me, but who did you think I was?”</p>
<p>“I thought you were you,” Aziraphale repeated. “Crowley, the hermit who lived up on the mountain. Well, I wasn’t entirely sure of your name, but I did think it was Crowley, and it was still you in any case.”</p>
<p>“I…” That was… he didn’t… that was… “You knew it was me?”</p>
<p>“I knew it couldn’t be anyone from town because I didn’t recognize you. And then, and I hope you don’t get offended by this, but there are rumours about you that have floated about through town, including a number of them about you being a serpent of some kind. I saw your tattoo, and from there it was an easy assumption,” Aziraphale explained.</p>
<p>So, this was it. Despite his best efforts, the rumours had followed him here too. He couldn’t say he was surprised; they’d followed him everywhere else. Realistically, even if they hadn’t, he still wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret from everyone forever. He didn’t want to keep it a secret forever, not from Aziraphale. He just wanted to know the alternative wasn’t going to be worse. But he was never going to get any guarantees on that until after the fact. No hope for it then, might as well tell him now before Crowley… not got in too deep, that was already a lost cause by a mile, but before he got in any deeper than he already was.</p>
<p>“That’s not why they call me a snake,” Crowley said. “It’s because…” he sighed and tilted his sunglasses down. Then, to make sure Aziraphale got the full effect, he tilted his head back some and looked upward right into a streetlight, causing his pupils to constrict into slits.</p>
<p>“Oh. Those are…”</p>
<p>“Disgusting, I know,” Crowley said, pushing his glasses back up. At least he hadn’t run away screaming. The situation was salvageable.</p>
<p>“I was going to say fascinating,” Aziraphale said primly. “Beautiful even.”</p>
<p>Crowley felt his entire brain shut down for a second there. Once he finally got it up and running again – hopefully he hadn’t been just standing there staring like an idiot for too long – he asked, “You really think so?”</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t,” Aziraphale replied.</p>
<p>Yeah, that was definitely the limit to the amount of serious emotions Crowley could take for the moment. He smirked a little, deliberately dropping back into something light and teasing. “You really are an angel,” he said.</p>
<p>“Oh, not really,” Aziraphale said, blushing again, and Crowley would get to see that blush in the daylight at some point. He was determined.</p>
<p>“You are,” Crowley retorted, still smirking. “A Christmas angel.”</p>
<p>“Now you’re just making fun of me.”</p>
<p>“I would never,” Crowley said with mock offense. “In fact, I have a Christmas wish for you, Christmas angel.”</p>
<p>“And what’s that?” Aziraphale asked.</p>
<p>“It appears I’m not all that informed on Christmas traditions. And who better to teach me than a Christmas angel?” Crowley managed to keep the teasing tone up for the first two sentences, but then suffered an attack of nerves, and added in a gentler voice, “If you want to.”</p>
<p>“I’d be delighted,” Aziraphale said. “I was actually headed home now to crack open a bottle of wine and sit in by the fire for a while if you’d like to join me and begin your lessons.”</p>
<p>“Better not. I already had two glasses earlier with dinner,” Crowley said.</p>
<p>“We don’t have to drink if you don’t want to,” Aziraphale said.</p>
<p>“It’s not a question of wanting to. But have you ever tried to climb a mountain in the middle of the night, drunk?”</p>
<p>“Ah.”</p>
<p>“Exactly.”</p>
<p>“Well,” Aziraphale said nervously, looking back down at Max again. The cat had fallen completely asleep in Aziraphale’s arms by now, the lucky bastard. “The invitation to sleep on my couch is an open one. If you’d prefer. And Max is welcome too, of course.”</p>
<p>“You mean that?” Crowley asked.</p>
<p>“I do. I’m quite fond of cats,” Aziraphale said. And this time Crowley was almost positive he wasn’t just talking about the cat.</p>
<p>Well. Here went nothing. “Hey, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, leaning in to place a kiss on Aziraphale’s cheek as soon as he looked up. “Forgot to give you this back.” In between them he held the sprig of mistletoe he had torn down from Aziraphale’s doorway the night before. Of course, it wasn’t until after Crowley had already kissed Aziraphale that he remembered the mistletoe was supposed to be over their heads, but, close enough hopefully.</p>
<p>“Oh. Uh, thank you. Though perhaps you better hold onto it for me for the moment,” Aziraphale said, making a nod at Max still cradled in his arms. Then he paused, looking as though he were considering something. “Wait a second. Did you not know what mistletoe was for either?”</p>
<p>“I do now,” Crowley mumbled. During Shadwell’s ranting about witches earlier, he had mentioned Anathema, which Crowley had luckily recognized as the name of Aziraphale’s neighbour. Crowley had tracked her down, and while the conversation hadn’t gone exactly like he had planned – Anathema might be even more bossy than Aziraphale was somehow – he had managed to get the information out of her about the apparently not actually magical plant that had made Aziraphale kiss him.</p>
<p>“I suppose I have my work cut out for me teaching you Christmas traditions, don’t I?” Aziraphale said.</p>
<p>Crowley grinned, a slow, blossoming thing that crept its way across his face. “That you do. And I’m a terrible student, you know. Horribly slow learner. It could take weeks. Months even.” As long as Crowley thought he could possibly get away with it, and then probably a little longer.</p>
<p>Aziraphale smiled back. “I look forward to it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>All the Whos down in Whoville liked Christmas a lot. And Crowley, who had only a few months ago moved to Whoville proper after having spent many years on the mountain just North of Whoville, was finding it was growing on him. Really, it was hard not to feel pretty generous about just about everything at the moment. Crowley was drowsing on the couch with Max curled up on his chest purring contentedly. Crowley’s head was in Aziraphale’s lap, and Aziraphale was gently carding the fingers of his hand not holding his book through Crowley’s hair. Crowley had in fact grown his hair out over the past year specifically to facilitate this sort of absent-minded petting.</p>
<p>Crowley heard Aziraphale close his book and set it down on the side table, and a moment later he began petting Max as well, making Max’s purr deepen. “You may want to think about going to bed soon,” he murmured.</p>
<p>“Too early,” Crowley said, choosing to ignore that he was half-asleep already.</p>
<p>“Mmmm,” Aziraphale hummed in acknowledgment. “Yes, but it’s Christmas tomorrow. You won’t be able to sleep in late at all.”</p>
<p>Crowley groaned as he was reminded of the one Christmas tradition he did still dislike a rather lot. “And it’s going to be so much louder down here,” he groused. He opened his eyes to see Aziraphale looking at him with an expression of fond amusement that dispelled most of his bad mood. Most of it. “Remind me why I moved again?”</p>
<p>“Well, the house here has much better climate control than your former residence,” Aziraphale suggested.</p>
<p>“True.”</p>
<p>“And you’re much more conveniently located to the shops here,” said Aziraphale.</p>
<p>Crowley made a vague noise of agreement.</p>
<p>“Max seems to prefer it down here in town as well.”</p>
<p>“Have to keep that scoundrel happy.”</p>
<p>“You’ve got space now for the charming miniature Christmas village you bought.”</p>
<p>“Hey, that’s your miniature village, not mine,” Crowley objected.</p>
<p>“Of course, dear,” Aziraphale said blithely. That bastard. Crowley only picked it up because he thought Aziraphale would want it.</p>
<p>“In any case,” Aziraphale continued, “moving here brought you closer to all your friends in town. No more worrying about trying to climb a mountain in the middle of the night, drunk.”</p>
<p>“Definite advantage,” Crowley agreed.</p>
<p>“And I think there was perhaps one other reason, but you know I can’t quite recall what it was,” Aziraphale said, with a little wiggle that said he was pleased with how clever he was being.</p>
<p>“Smug bastard,” Crowley said. He reached up to pull Aziraphale down into a kiss. The angle was awkward, with Crowley being pinned down by Max and Aziraphale having to bend clear in half to meet him, and Crowley wasn’t bothered in the slightest.</p>
<p>“I love you,” Aziraphale said.</p>
<p>“Love you too.” Crowley settled back into Aziraphale’s lap again, letting his eyes drift closed. “I’ll go to bed in a few minutes.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” Aziraphale agreed. Crowley heard him pick his book back up, and a minute later he started stroking Crowley’s hair again. Crowley let his mind drift, soaking in the warmth and peace of the moment. In a little he would get up and go to bed. He’d spend a peaceful night wrapped up around Aziraphale, before being rudely awakened far too early in the morning. He’d grumble for a bit, then go out and join the celebrations, not as an outsider or guest, but as an actual member of the community. And maybe, if he was feeling up to it, he might even leave his sunglasses at home.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>